Hurricanes in Paradise (19 page)

* * *

Laine sat out on the balcony of Sea Glass. She had grabbed a croissant and a coffee and was enjoying the breeze coming off the ocean. She brushed crumbs from her breakfast off the mother-of-pearl and copper mosaic tabletop, then leaned her head back on the gray suede cushion, scooting her feet farther out in front of her.

“I dare you to say you forgot.”

She knew immediately who it was, although the fire behind the voice was slightly contrary to the Riley she knew.

“There’s no need to dare me,” she said, eyes still closed. “I didn’t forget; I simply changed my mind.”

She heard a loud puff of air come out of Riley. “What is it, Laine? Have I offended you or something? Because I have tried to do nothing since you’ve been here but serve you and make sure that you had every resource at your disposal to make this a productive and pleasant trip for you. So what is it? What have I done to make you act so incredibly rude?”

Laine raised herself from her seat. She turned her head to see Riley’s black curls bouncing slightly on the edges of her shoulders, her hands on the hips of her red dress, and her black eyes blazing. Her voice, however, was completely calm. “I don’t owe you any explanation, to be honest with you, Riley. If I decide to change my mind, I decide to change my mind.” She could tell by Riley’s expression that didn’t register well.

“I have other guests I’m responsible for, Ms. Fulton.” Now she was Ms. Fulton. “Guests who appreciate my service and attention. So, forgive me, but yes, if you’re not going to show, I would appreciate a phone call. A common courtesy. I don’t care where you’re from; decency is decency.”

Laine felt her own anger rise but maintained control. “You know what, Riley? I simply don’t like you.” There. She said it. And it felt as awful as it sounded. “You and your little perfect life, flitting around here as if you are doing the world a favor.” She motioned with her hand. “With your senator daddy and your fancy name.”

“Perfect? You think I’m perfect? You’re mad at me because you think I’m perfect?” Riley’s rage seemed to escalate with each rhetorical question.

“I believe that’s what I said.”

Riley moved in closer to Laine. She invaded her space to an uncomfortable level, but Laine refused to move. She could see the tears that now lay at the edges of Riley’s eyes. Laine wouldn’t let her face betray her, holding her glare steady.

“Okay, Laine, since you know me so well and are such a discerner of people, just tell me what exactly made me so perfect. Huh?” Her anger was palpable now, and her words were engorged with passion and furor.

“Was I perfect when the car I was driving ran over a little boy, Laine? Was I perfect when I snuffed out the life of a three-year-old right in front of his mother? a little boy who was doing nothing but chasing a ball out into the road? Was I perfect then, Laine?”

Laine sat there, stoic. She wouldn’t even let herself blink.

“Or, no, wait; oh yes, I know.” She watched as Riley slammed her hands together. “I was perfect when I became so depressed that I consumed enough alcohol to drown my self-loathing and destroy my family. Was that perfect woman the one you were talking about? Or was I perfect when my husband left and had full custody of my child because I didn’t have a waking moment that was sober? Was I perfect then, Laine? Tell me, because I really want to know. Is that the perfect woman you were talking about? the one you—oh, how did you say it?—‘simply don’t like’?”

Laine’s jaw pulsed as she clenched her teeth.

Riley’s tears were free-falling now. “Was I perfect when even my own daddy—” she all but spat the words—“knew it was best for my husband to raise my baby? Was I perfect then, Laine? Or no, maybe it was when I stole from my own parents just to have another bottle of booze, and they finally had to kick me out of their house too.” Her hands shot up to the heavens. “That has to be when I was perfect!”

Riley swatted at her tears and appeared to gain control of herself. Her voice was now almost a whisper. “You have no idea, Laine. You want to talk about perfect, let’s dissect your life. But don’t you dare—and I mean, don’t you dare—ever judge me again. And I don’t care if I lose my job. Because I’d rather lose my job than be treated with the level of disrespect you have shown me over the last couple of days. But you can rest assured it stops here.”

She turned and walked out through the lobby, leaving a wake that all but took Laine under.

* * *

Laine refused to move until Riley was no longer in her view. Then she bent down slowly, picked up her bag, and walked to her room. It wasn’t until the door was closed neatly behind her that she collapsed onto the floor. She was now officially everything she hated. Which seemed fitting for a person who hated herself so completely. Her tears fell on the plush taupe carpet with abandon. She didn’t care what stain they left because it would pale in comparison to the stain that rested on her soul. To the
A
that was sewn on her chest. To the demons that clawed at her mind. She had been mean. She had been cruel. She had been downright evil. She had hurt Riley to her core. It was evident. And she had deserved every ounce of Riley’s anger.

She’d had no idea. She had no idea what Riley’s past looked like. Riley saw the contempt Laine had for her. What she didn’t see was the contempt Laine had for herself. Riley had never been anything but kind. Not once had she judged her. Not once had she avoided her, even when Laine treated her with complete disrespect. The crying started from her gut and the wails grew until her body shook with sobs. There were no words, just groans from someplace so deep and dark and broken that the intensity of it would have dropped her to the ground had her face not already been buried in the carpet.

Tears rushed down her face in such rapid tandem that the carpet beneath her was wet against her cheek. Her body lurched forward and back with each gushing wave that rolled through her. And with each surge of unleashed regret, the groans crescendoed. In her entire life she knew she had never been more desperate or more completely vulnerable than she was this moment. It felt unavoidable and emptying. And somewhere in the middle of it, a whisper penetrated her cries and traveled straight to her heart.

“You’re never so far that He can’t find you.”

They were Mitchell’s last words to her the day she had moved out of the house. Those words had driven her crazy for the last year and a half. His faith had driven her crazy. Especially after Dubai. But now, right now, in a strange room on an island in the Atlantic Ocean, in the ruins of what had once resembled a life, she wished it were true. She wished so many things. The words ran through her mind again.
“You’re never so far . . .”

She felt worlds away from everything. Yet she spoke anyway. “I want to be found,” she cried. “Can the lost be found?”

As soon as the words fell from her lips, a breeze blew past her. Her head rose quickly, the air against her wet face making her aware of every track a tear had left. She looked at the glass door to see if it had flown open, but it was closed. Tightly. She laid her head back down on the carpet. “Please, please find me.”

The breeze blew again. This time harder, swifter. And she knew. She knew she had been found. The breath of heaven swept over her. She lay there, letting it make its way to every empty cavity of her soul. It was as if she could feel it coursing through her very veins, bringing life to places in her being that had never lived. The warmth of it was real and raw and transforming. She wept at its gentleness and prayed it wouldn’t hasten its departure. It felt strange yet familiar. It felt kind yet authoritative. It felt consuming yet forgiving. And it felt as if it knew her inside out. As if it created her. As if it had been waiting for this moment, and when she had relinquished herself, it was there to finally take up residence in the soul of her. The soul it had created.

When the healing of every broken place inside of her had rested from its work, she turned over, lay on her back, and stared at the ceiling. In that moment she knew that Mitchell was right: you could never travel so far that heaven couldn’t find you. And Roy had been right too: you had to admit you were diseased before you could ever be healed.

Two hours passed before she raised herself up off the floor. But when she got up, something inside Laine Fulton was no longer lost. No, something—if she was willing to be honest—had been found. She just never dreamed she’d have to come to a place called Paradise to find it. But she knew that there really was healing here, if you were truly willing to admit you were sick. She could only hope that it wouldn’t stop there, because there was so much left to redeem.

* * *

Winnie sat on a thick-cushioned chaise in the lower lobby breezeway that connected The Cove and The Reef. She leaned back into the deep cushion and pulled her tennis shoe–clad feet up on top. She took a sip of her grande mocha Frappuccino and pulled her blueberry muffin from the vellum brown bag. She had walked a couple miles and once again avoided the Beach Towers. She took a bite of her muffin and chewed as she looked out at the immaculate tropical paradise in front of her. Nature was singing to her and she loved every minute of it. At some point she might even tell her kids how absolutely wonderful this entire trip had been. Once she was home and had successfully avoided Albert.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it, baby?” She spoke to the air.

Birds chirped as they flew from palm tree to palm tree.

“I knew you’d think so. Can’t believe I let you get me addicted to these Starbucks thingamajigs. I wouldn’t look so voluptuous if you hadn’t turned me on to them.”

She giggled.

“I know you like me this way.”

She took another sip of her coffee and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. She quieted her conversation when she heard someone round the corner.

“Winnie Harris? Is that you?”

Winnie turned her head and all but choked on her muffin.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” He reached out to pat her on the back as she leaned up and coughed.

“Albert Wilson, what on God’s green earth are you doing here?”

He laughed and ran a tanned hand over his pink polo shirt. “Probably the same as you. Getting a little R & R for a few days. My kids kept telling me I needed to get away.”

Winnie set her coffee and muffin on the little copper drum she had pulled up next to her to serve as a side table. She threw her feet over the side of the chaise and sat up straight. What she had been avoiding she now sat directly across from.

“Mind if I sit down?” He motioned to the other end of the chaise.

She eyed him, trying not to seem as suspicious as she felt. His stature was still tall and lean for his seventy-five years. His white hair was trim and neat and his blue eyes as piercing as Winnie’s own. Maybe that’s why she didn’t trust him. That and the fact that he was almost as handsome as Leslie Nielsen, who had made her husband laugh so ridiculously in that
Airplane!
movie. She scooted to the edge of the chaise, tempted to grab one of the cushions and put it between them. “No. Sure. It’s fine.”

“You look beautiful, Winnie. Seems like the sun is agreeing with you.” He tugged at the ends of his khaki shorts as he sat.

She dabbed at her cheeks. “I guess so, yes.”

“So what brings you here, to this exotic piece of paradise?”

She had no idea why he used the word
exotic
. It came out downright sultry with his rich Southern drawl. “My kids bought the trip—to torture me, I’m beginning to think.” She raised her right eyebrow.

He laughed. “Our kids must be very similar.”

“Similar how?” she inquired. She knew he was in on the whole thing.

“Worried about us. Mine won’t let me breathe anymore without knowing where I am. I was glad to get away just to get out from under their prying eyes.”

“Speaking of getting away . . .” She glanced at her watch as if it were going to declare some place she had to be. She didn’t have to be anywhere. “I still have a few more things to do before an appointment I have this afternoon.”

He stood up as she did. The true trademark of a gentleman. “Well, it was absolutely delightful to get to see you, Winnie. Maybe we could grab dinner or something one evening.”

“Yeah, yeah. . . . Well, I’ll see you around.” She scooped up her coffee and her leftover muffin and threw her hand up in a farewell gesture. Her short legs scurried as quickly as they could around the corner and darted up the stairs to the main level, her sequin-striped britches all but starting a fire as the sequins rubbed rapidly between her legs. She didn’t stop until she reached her room, where she locked the door behind her and declared to stay until her flight on Saturday. As soon as the bolt clicked, she let out a primal scream. She would not cry. But screaming was absolutely appropriate. Because she would officially kill all of her children when she got home. Until then, she’d harass them by phone, starting with the oldest.

* * *

Tamyra wiped the perspiration from the back of her neck with the towel provided by the fitness center. She came every morning and ran for an hour, for both her body and her mind. She stepped off the treadmill and walked through the store that sold fitness gear for forgetful vacationers and out the front door of the club. The morning was already warm and yet not as humid as Savannah. The breeze coming off the water seemed to remove any stickiness from the air.